


Something To Believe In

by helloearthlings



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: 2 Broke Girls - Freeform, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fluff, Humor, M/M, Restaurants, sort of a crossover
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-08
Updated: 2013-12-08
Packaged: 2018-01-04 02:11:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1075310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helloearthlings/pseuds/helloearthlings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Merlin's life was going nowhere, but he didn't exactly mind. That was, until Arthur came along and managed to fuck everything up. Loosely based on the television show '2 Broke Girls'.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Something To Believe In

**Author's Note:**

> I did this because I can, and none of you have the right to judge me. Besides, Max and Caroline would make the perfect fem!Merlin and fem!Arthur. Someone's got to agree with me on that.

Everyone knew about the Uther Pendragon scandal. It was in every paper in the city. Pendragon had somehow managed to rip off almost every damn person in New York, cheating and stealing his way through everyone’s money.

The fact that he had been caught, his scheme put to an end and his entire family fortune lost was old news, nearly three weeks. Four at most. 

Merlin had never paid too much attention to it. Sure, it was great that rich boss guy got carted off to prison – Merlin had always hated bosses, rich people, too, they were just rubbish in general, all haughty and proud and _ugh._ The scandal really hadn’t affected Merlin to an extent anyway.

 He was already dirt poor; there was hardly a way to get much poorer than he was without being unemployed and homeless.

Sure, he had a couple of steady jobs, a babysitting gig with one of the rubbish rich families in Manhattan and working nights at the local Brooklyn diner, and maybe they didn’t give him great money, but he was surviving and that was an accomplishment in and of itself.

That was how Merlin got by, paycheck to paycheck, not going anywhere or doing anything of worth, just scraping his way by on the bottom of the barrel.

And he was happy, for the most part.

Well, happy was a tiny bit of an overstatement, but he had a roof over his head, enough cash to buy the occasional joint, and his boss had agreed to let him sell his cupcakes at the diner, so he really couldn’t complain too much or too often.

So, in his world, Uther Pendragon was but another formerly rich Manhattan socialite, and his family and his worth meant absolutely nothing to Merlin.

That was, until they did.

An ordinary night at the diner, about eleven o’clock, and Merlin was dying for his shift to be over. He hadn’t slept properly in a week, there was a crick in his neck the size of Africa, he hadn’t had sex in three months, and the customer with the beanie and the nasally voice was _pissing him off._

“No,” repeated Merlin for possibly the eighth time that night with gritted teeth as he tried to resist the urge to punch this twat across the face. He had to deal with approximately fifteen rude customers each night, but this one was going to take the week’s prize for Prat of the Week.

Merlin had a running tally going. This one might even get Prat of the Month, a truly prestigious award that took a hell of a lot of annoyance and anger on Merlin’s part to even be considered a contender.

“We’re out of apple pie,” Merlin hoped he was smiling at Beanie Guy. “We have pumpkin, though, and there are cupcakes as well.”

“Never mind, then, if you don’t have apple,” Beanie Guy snorted derisively in Merlin’s direction and turned to his girlfriend or sister or whatever across the table from him with a roll of his eyes and a toss of his head. “Honestly, can’t they hire competent servers?”

“Hey, how about you shut up?” Merlin said amicably, and dammit, he was hoping to avoid pissing of customers and coworkers tonight. Oh, well, it was only a measly once a year that he was able to get away with that kind of miracle. To try and do otherwise just seemed exhausting and pointless.

“This server is plenty competent; we’re just out of fucking apple pie. So how about you behave like a decent person and I don’t know, _not_ insult the person getting you your food? Because let me tell you right now, I’ve spit in the dishes of better customers than you and I wouldn’t recommend being added to the masses of those who have tasted my saliva. Ask any of my exes. So, either get a slice of pumpkin or get the fuck out of my restaurant. Understand me, Beanie?”

Beanie Guy stared at him with a look mixed between shock and revulsion, his female companion doing the same. Merlin just grinned. “Made your decision yet?”

Needless to say the couple was out the doors in the next minute.

Merlin shouldn’t have been pleased, but he was.

“Another customer you’ve scared off?” Gwaine called from the tiny kitchen as he dinged the bell about six times too many with calls for tables two and four. “Remind me again how you’ve gotten away with working here for three years without being fired?”

“It’s a gift,” Merlin said with a shrug as he balanced three plates in his arms. He was going to drop at least one of them, he was certain. It was one of those kinds of nights. “Plus, I’m a lot better than that one Polish waitress with the freaky hair and the penchant for fucking people in the freezer.”

“I got rid of Ada on Sunday,” Morgana appeared from the ladies’ room looking harried. She was Merlin’s boss, but most of the time, she was just like the rest of the poor, underpaid workers. Mainly because in the grand scheme of things, she was. “Got a new waiter, though. Cute blond guy with abs to die for.”

“Dibs!” Merlin and Gwaine said simultaneously, Merlin giving Gwaine the evil eye  and the finger as he did so. Gwaine simply wiggled his eyebrows in response. Morgana just rolled her eyes.

“Honestly, the two of you are teenagers,” she shook her head. “Anyway, he’s in the bathroom now getting the uniform on. Merlin, soon as you’re done with those orders, you can teach him the ropes.”

“How about we don’t hire him?” Merlin made an alternative suggestion. It wasn’t that he didn’t want the cute blond, but the idea of training someone new made him feel sick to his stomach. He didn’t’ like teaching people, he was a horrible teacher. “I can work more than enough for two people and I need all the money I can get.”

“No, no, we need at least one other waiter,” Morgana waved him off and Merlin sighed, knowing that the idea was too good to be true.

“Alright, just let me go give these out.”

When Merlin returned only thirty seconds later from his circle around the restaurant, there was a man in a uniform that matched his leaning against the counter as he spoke to Morgana.

She had been right, he was cute, and so blond Merlin felt like he needed to shield his eyes. He was built, too, and tall, not as tall as Merlin, but still a decent height. He held himself differently, though, differently than any other person in this restaurant, as if he were a king over the lowly mortals surrounding him. His smirk in Morgana’s direction was condescending, as if even though she was his boss, he was somehow above her.

Hot, Merlin decided. Very Ken Doll. Gwaine had probably already added him to his spank bank. If Merlin was lewd and crass enough to have a spank bank, he probably would have added in the guy as well. But that didn’t change the fact that he looked like a Grade A Douchebag.  

And everyone, even elderly deaf couples in Korea, knew how Merlin treated douchebags.

“Are you sure that this place is up to health codes?” Ken Doll even sounded like a douche. Merlin jumped the counter and swiveled himself back next to Gwaine’s window that led back into the kitchen. He exchanged a look with his friend that told him that their thinking patterns were running remarkably similarly right now. “Because I would be willing to bet a lot of money that I saw a rat in the men’s room.”

“Quite sure,” Morgana’s smile was forced and Merlin yet again wondered why she wouldn’t just let him work double the time instead of hiring this tool. “Now that you’re hired, it can be part of _your_ responsibilities to help clean it.”

Merlin held in a cackle. Oh, how he loved it when people other than him called others out on their bullshit. It was refreshing.

Ken Doll didn’t seem to think it was refreshing, for he just raised an eyebrow at her, but then seemed to realize that she was, in fact, his _boss_ , for he sighed and said. “Sure thing. So when do I start?”

“Right now,” Morgana said, gesturing toward Merlin, who stepped forward with slight trepidation. “You worked in a pretty upper class Manhattan restaurant, so I’m sure our little diner won’t be a problem for you. Have any questions, ask Merlin. I’ll be in the back.”

Merlin stopped her as she started heading around the counter and toward the kitchen. Leaning down into her ear, he whispered “Please. For the love of my sanity, just tell him to get lost.”

“Not a chance,” she murmured back. “Everyone needs help sometimes, Merlin. Even you.”

Merlin would have been more than happy to have a debate with her on the topic, but she was behind the doors a moment later. Hoping that he didn’t look nearly as pissed off and tired as he was, he turned back to Ken Doll, whose look at him resembled one that someone might look at a cockroach on their bathroom floor with.

Oh, this was going to be just _lovely_.

“Right, so, I’m Merlin,” Merlin figured it was best to get introductions over and done with. “You’ve got experience, and therefore don’t need too much help, thank God; I’ve got enough to do. So just go ahead and marry the ketchups, maybe wipe down the counters. We close at two, so just keep yourself busy until then. You can take Ada’s section over, that’s tables one through eight and half the bar. We split checks at the end of the night.”

Ken Doll went from condescending to appearing hopelessly lost within three seconds. Merlin resisted the urge to roll his eyes. The man had barely spoken ten words, it wasn’t right of Merlin to hate him already.

Except, well, it was Merlin, and he hated humanity in general and, suffice to say, hadn’t met very many of them as a whole unit.

“…Okay,” he said slowly after a second, as if he were trying to draw it out as long as possible. He took a purposeful stride over to the counter, where the about a dozen ketchup bottles sat and looked at them in utter confusion. Merlin took a step back to observe, curiosity growing.

This should be good.

When Ken Doll began shifting the ketchups around in a different order, Merlin snorted, hoping that the other man hadn’t heard him. He wanted to keep this up as long as possible.  When he called out “Now divorce the ketchups!” and Ken Doll rearranged them once more, Merlin finally took pity on him.

“You haven’t worked at a restaurant for a day in your life, have you?” He grinned, coming up next to him and leaning against the countertop. Ken Doll went crimson.

“Of course I have!”

“No, you haven’t,” Merlin bit his lip to keep from laughing again. “You have no idea what to do. I think I need to go and get Morgana and report you. Maybe now she’ll let me take over both spots.”

“No, please!” Ken Doll’s voice went higher as he reached out a hand to stop Merlin. Merlin looked down at it. Interesting. “Please, I need this job.”

He sounded so desperate. It was almost like begging, and Merlin always enjoyed it when people were put in a position where they needed to beg him for things. It didn’t happen very often, so he should probably revel in it. Plus, he felt a little bad for the guy. “Okay, okay, I won’t tell her _yet_. It’s not like I haven’t lied on my resume before. Alright, you can shadow me for the night; learn the tricks of the trade. But don’t think for a second that this means I like you, Ken Doll.”

“Ken what?”

“Ken Doll,” Merlin emphasized each syllable as the man surveyed him as if he had a few screws loose in his brain. But most people looked at Merlin like that, so it wasn’t like it was a new thing. “Because you’re a guy, so I can’t call you Barbie. You look like you should be a model in some kind of fancy magazine.”  

“Well, you look like you should be out scrounging for pennies in the street but I never felt the need to comment on that,” Ken Doll’s response was biting, sarcastic, and absolutely perfect. Merlin probably freaked him out by grinning widely over at him.

“Three weeks ago, Thursday, you should have been about two blocks from here,” he joked. Well, mostly joked. It had been a bad week. “Alright, c’mon, Ken, let’s go and I’ll show you the joys of waiter-hood.”

“It’s Arthur,” Ken Doll corrected him and Merlin was pleased to see a small smile quirk up on his mouth. “My name is Arthur.”

“I’ll still probably call you Ken Doll,” Merlin smiled back. “But good to know.”

* * *

 

Two o’clock and closing time came quick enough. Merlin had somehow managed to get in a better mood, mainly through the aid of Arthur’s hilarious mishaps. He was more coordinated than Merlin, that was for certain, but other than the fact that he didn’t drop trays every other order, he had absolutely no clue what was happening or what he was supposed to be doing, Merlin being left to pick up his slack. It would have been annoying if it hadn’t been so funny. Ken Doll obviously had never waited tables before, and honestly, he probably hadn’t even _worked_ before, he was so clueless.

Still, the fun Merlin had gone through watching Arthur that night would make up for the fact that he didn’t have cable and would have to stay up another hour making tomorrow’s batch of cupcakes.

Well, almost make up for.

Still, when the shift was over and Merlin was forced to rake over half of his tip money, he wasn’t nearly as pissed off as he should have been. Morgana even gave him an incredulous glance on her way out the door.

It was nice to be unpredictable for once.

“You gonna be okay for the night?” Merlin asked Arthur as they parted ways on the sidewalk outside of the main door. Arthur did have what looked like a suitcase with him, after all, and that wasn’t a promising sign as to someone’s well-being.

“I’ll be fine,” Arthur said. “I’ve got a friend that lives not too far from here.”

“Okay,” Merlin wasn’t sure he believed him, but he let it go with a shrug. “See you tomorrow night, I guess. I hope you don’t suck as much then.”

That probably came out more sexual than he intended. But Merlin just blamed it on overexposure to Gwaine. It could be used to excuse most of his behavior, when it came down to it.

Arthur had just waved him off, though, as they headed in opposite directions.

And Merlin thought that would be the end of it for the night.

It wasn’t, though. His trip home on the Subway was overcrowded, packed to the brim, but he still noticed the sleeping figure in the corner, sprawled out over too much space with his mouth hanging open slightly, a spot of drool on his face.

“Arthur?” Merlin sidestepped an Asian couple to poke the unconscious body. “Arthur, is that you?”

The man woke with a start and before Merlin knew what was happening, a hand out to punch him in the stomach. He seized over, choking, as Arthur said “Wait – Merlin?”

“Yes, it’s Merlin,” Merlin wheezed, clutching his belly. “Christ on a fucking crutch, what the hell was that for?”

“Sorry,” Arthur replied, only half-looking so. “I didn’t know who you were.”

“Great,” Merlin stood up straight once again, massaging the tender spot that would probably develop into a bruise. “And on a similar subject, what are you doing here? Thought you said you had a friend you were staying with.”

“Erm – I lied?” Arthur offered after a moment, and he decidedly did not meet Merlin’s eyes.

It was at that moment that Merlin had an idea. And then promptly chastised himself for having the idea. And then chastised himself for chastising himself for having the idea.

He had a headache now, so with a sigh, he said “I’ve got a couch. Come back to my place for the night.”

“Really?” Arthur’s jaw dropped in shock and gratitude and Merlin cursed mentally at the appearance of his good nature. God, he hated that bastard, always showed up at the most inopportune moments.

“Yeah, really,” he said. “It’s not too far away, just another stop. Can’t have you sleeping on a Subway cart, can we? You’d be even more rubbish at work tomorrow.”

* * *

 

“And here we are, home sweet home,” Merlin threw open the door as Arthur followed him inside with trepidation and then a bit of disgust.

Which wasn’t fair, really, it was a nice place. Well, not nice by Person Standards, but nice by Merlin Standards. It was small, dingy, there were odd stains on multiple walls, and perhaps the smell was wonky, but there was a working kitchen and a couch without lumps, Merlin had his own bedroom instead of a Murphy bed, and there was a tiny little yard off of the kitchen, so it was really quite decent.

Arthur was looking as if he had just seen the devil himself, though.

“I can’t stay here,” he said, face horrified. “It looks like cockroaches will come crawling out of the walls any minute.”

“If you want to sleep on a Subway car, be my guest,” Merlin shrugged, not bothered too much by the comments. “Otherwise, the couch is yours for the night.”

Arthur, apparently, decided that anywhere was better than the Subway, for after a second, he said “…Thanks.”

“No problem,” Merlin headed across the room to the fridge, throwing his jacket haphazardly onto the floor as he did so, and as he searched for ingredients called out “So why exactly is Ken Doll crashing on my coach instead of partying it up at Barbie’s Malibu Dream House or whatever the fuck it’s called?”

“What makes you think I have a Dream House?” Arthur’s voice wafted back at him as Merlin slammed the fridge door shut, all of his ingredients balanced precariously in his hands.

“You look the type to have about six vacation homes,” Merlin said with an eye roll as he set the containers down on his counter. Arthur still hadn’t sat down or anything; he was just standing in the center of the room, suitcase still in hand and looking more awkward by the second. “So what is it? You gamble all your money away? Spend it on dope?”

“What? No!” Arthur sounded almost wounded by the accusations. “My…well, my last name is Pendragon.”

“No,” Merlin truly, honestly, did not believe him. “No way.”

Arthur winced. “Yeah.”

“But that makes you – you’re _Arthur Pendragon_.” Merlin suddenly recalled seeing pictures of the face in front of him on lots of magazines after the Ponzi scheme his father had orchestrated. So he _had_ been right about that. No way was this real life.

“I’m aware of that, _Mer_ lin,” Arthur said with a roll of his eyes, but he suddenly didn’t seem so proud or haughty anymore. He was smaller, almost, withdrawn under the scrutiny.

“That means that you’re filthy, stinking rich!” Merlin set down the pan he had begun to grease for preparation. “Like ten vacation house rich, not six.”

“Used to be,” Arthur corrected as he took a seat for the first time, shifting uncomfortably on the edge of the couch. “Or did you not realize that we lost _everything_ in that scandal? Trust me, I wouldn’t just randomly decide to apply for a job at a Brooklyn diner or sleep on a Subway car.”

Merlin suddenly felt bad for him. Not bad for making fun of him, he never felt bad for that, but no one deserved his shitty situation, no matter how much of an asshole he might back. “Sleep here, then. I’ll wake you before I leave for work in the morning.”

“But we don’t work at the diner until five,” Arthur scrunched his eyes up in confusion and Merlin had to make a decision whether or not to tease him.

It was hardly a decision at all. “Some of us have to work more than one job, Ken Doll. I go babysit for a Manhattan socialite. Hey, if I were twenty years older, that could have been you.” Arthur gave him a long-suffering look, as if he had known Merlin and known Merlin’s comments for at least that long and hated every one of them. “Sleep. I’ll be done in the kitchen in half an hour. Just have to get the cupcakes in the oven.”

 “Night, then,” Arthur said, and his next statement was laden with warmth. “And thank you.”

Merlin resisted the feeling of his heart slowly warming and possibly expanding. Because that, frankly, was ridiculous, and his heart obviously did not know what it was doing or else it would be very cross with itself.

* * *

 

After another distressing day of listening to Nimueh rant about high society functions and watching her treat her twin boys like trash, Merlin was about ready to go on an epic quest to spill someone’s blood. Unfortunately, he didn’t have the opportunity to do so before his shift at the diner, as he had to go pick Arthur up from his apartment. He vaguely wondered what Arthur had done all day, then decided he could live without knowing.

Arthur was still just as horrible of a waiter today, but he was good for balancing the trays on his arms, a part that Merlin had always failed at all. Masterfully failed, but failed nonetheless. It was a true talent, not tripping over his feet, and it was one Merlin very much wished he had.

Maybe then Morgana would let him be the single waiter. Except he didn’t exactly want to see Arthur go, not really. He was new and he was exciting and Merlin liked new and exciting things.

“Order up, table twelve!” Gwaine vigorously dinged the bell, Merlin meeting him with an eye roll. “How’s pretty boy working out?”

“Did he just call me _pretty boy_?” Arthur appeared at Merlin’s shoulder, nose crinkled as he glared at Gwaine, which really just made the both of them laugh uproariously.

“Don’t take it personally,” Merlin said. “Gwaine will compliment anything that gives him the possibility of a night where his only pleasure isn’t his own hand.”

Gwaine winked and positively leered at Arthur. Merlin did not punch him. Nope, he did not. Even if he wanted to, because Gwaine was really an ass sometimes even if he was probably Merlin’s closest friend. “Keep it in mind, Princess.”

“What is it with people here and nicknames?” Arthur complained. “You’re both ridiculous.”

“It’s the only way to be if you want to survive in this crazy world without the help of few million dollars for spare change,” Merlin said. “Table Twelve, Ken Doll.”

“So why’d the two of you show up here together?” Gwaine asked the second Arthur had taken the four plates of sort of hot food over to the family on the other side of the diner.

“He’s kind of staying at my place,” Merlin said with a shrug, and before Gwaine could comment in his usual inappropriate way, he said “Don’t. He needed a place to crash.”

“And is he going to stay there tonight?” Gwaine raised an eyebrow knowingly, and Merlin found himself hating that eyebrow.

“Probably,” he begrudgingly admitted. “But he doesn’t have anywhere else to go!”

“Oh, I knew you’d let someone into that stone cold heart one day,” Gwaine said with a sigh and an overdramatic click of his tongue. Merlin hit the back of his head harder than anticipated when he said “Always thought it was going to be me that finally broke you down.”

“Table Ten wants salt and pepper,” Arthur circled back around the counter and to Gwaine’s window. Merlin gave Gwaine the glare of death to keep him from continuing on their topic of conversation.

“Should be some over there,” Merlin frowned. “Hold up, I’ll go check.”

There wasn’t salt and pepper at the table, even though there should have been. Merlin blamed it on Mordred, the busboy that usually worked nights. He blamed Mordred on a lot of things, even if it wasn’t actually his fault. It was easier than finding someone else to blame. Merlin grabbed an extra salt shaker with its partner off of the empty table next to Ten and ticked a mental reminder to find more in the storage room for later.

When he got back, Arthur was eating a cupcake.

“What are you doing, we can’t eat on shift!” Merlin shoved Arthur’s shoulder lightly. Never mind that he usually ended up stuffing his face in the freezer where no one could see him at least once a month. It wasn’t like Morgana cared that much either way.

“Gwaine said I should try one, that they were yours,” Arthur said with a shrug. “This is _delicious_ , by the way. How are you not selling these at five star restaurants? You should at least have your own business.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t,” Merlin said, though he was a bit touched by the compliment. It wasn’t often he received compliments, so he should try to enjoy them when they came. “Thanks, though.”

“Why don’t you?” Arthur was incredulous as he licked vanilla frosting in an utterly obscene way that looked like it belonged in pornography, not in the view of the entire diner. “You could make a killing off of these catering parties and what not.”

Merlin shrugged, a bit uncomfortable. “I dunno, never really tried or anything. I don’t know shit about business and they sell well enough here to get by.”

“Don’t you want to do something besides just get by?” Arthur questioned and Merlin was suddenly having flashbacks to the terrors of his high school days in the guidance counselor’s office as they went through career options with him. “C’mon, _Mer_ lin. I’ll help you, I went to business school. I can take care of that end of it while you bake.”

“Yeah, ‘cause that’s gonna work out,” Merlin laughed off Arthur’s very obvious jokes. Because what else could they be?

“I’m serious,” Arthur said through a mouthful of red velvet. “Just think about it.”

“Okay,” said Merlin, because for once in his life, he wasn’t in the mood to argue. He could just keep putting it off for age upon age, though, and Arthur would eventually give up on the idea, or else he would disappear from Merlin’s life before that even had the chance to occur.

It wasn’t like it was ever going to happen. Things like that weren’t a part of Merlin’s life. He was a fuck up and always had been, no reason to change his ways into proper and more respectable ones now.

* * *

 

Arthur didn’t give up, though.

By some unspoken connection, they had agreed that Arthur was to stay on Merlin’s couch for an undetermined amount of time. He obviously didn’t want to return to sleeping on the Subway and Merlin…also didn’t want him sleeping on the Subway. It was cold out there and Arthur was temperamental enough when he had spent a night sleeping on Merlin’s nice, lovely, not lumpy couch.

If Arthur was listened to, it was the worst couch in the history of the universe, and how could _anyone_ survive sleeping on that monstrosity, and God, Merlin, you’re poor. Merlin tried very hard not to point out that he was a hell of a lot richer than Arthur right now, but the truth of the matter was that they were both broke and nothing either of them said was going to fix that little issue.

Still, Arthur wasn’t a terrible roommate. He cleaned, which was one of Merlin’s worst nightmares, and he sometimes attempted to help cook, or shop, or whatever, even though he was pretty much useless at it.

Merlin liked him, though, because he was funny and sarcastic and it was always great to have someone to join in on his insult parades with. Many of their exchanges included using the words prat, wanker, shit for brains, fuck face, hellion, twat, twit, dickhead, asshole, dollophead, clotpole, cabbage head, and the ever popular idiot.

Merlin had never had more fun in his life than when they got moving on another rousing game of “Let’s See How Many Made-Up Names We Can Discover.”

But whenever Arthur started bringing up the cupcake business, Merlin was forced to reevaluate why the hell he had taken in such an annoying stray.

It was worse than the guidance counselor’s office. Mainly because some of the things Arthur said made _sense._

Merlin hated it when other people talked sense. It made him feel much guiltier about being half-mad the vast majority of the time.

It was only inevitable, really, after a week of constant pestering about Merlin’s _goals,_ and _future_ , and all that other shit he pretended didn’t exist, that he blew up.

“All I’m saying is that no one wants to be a waiter for the rest of their life, I definitely don’t, and it doesn’t look like I’ll be getting a penny of my money back any time soon – so us being business partners really isn’t that difficult of a step, we could easily do it when we’re not working the diner and you’re not with Nimueh. Well, unless you don’t think you have the capability to do it, in which case –”

“Arthur, stop talking,” Merlin was about ready to choke him. Slowly and painfully, while watching him writhe on the floor on agony. It had arrived at that point.

It was nearly two thirty in the morning, and their walk to the Subway station was numbingly cold in the autumn air. Arthur had somehow managed to turn a conversation about how much of a bitch weather was into another cupcake-related rant.

“Look, I’m happy, more than happy, really, to let you take over my house, my job, and my life in general, but I’m not talking about this anymore,” Merlin said, and before Arthur could open his mouth with yet another reason why Merlin was being an idiot, he pressed on. “I’m not interested in starting a cupcake business, especially if it means I have to put up with you pressuring me about it constantly. I don’t have a future, and I’m happy with not having a future, so you can just shove it and deal with the fact that I, and probably you by default, am never going to be anything other than deadbeat waiters. Unless, of course, you get out of my life right now and go find someone who is more willing to put up with this bullshit. Because I’m not.”

Merlin didn’t realize he was yelling until he reached the end. Arthur had stopped walking, turning back to Merlin with an expression of both hurt and anger. “You don’t have a future? And you’ve already decided this? By what force of nature did you just up and choose to do absolutely _nothing_ with your life?”

“Fuck you,” Merlin said, and although he probably told Arthur to go fuck himself at least once an hour, this was the first time it had come out with any form of malice. “If this is your way of projecting you newfound moneyless-ness onto me, I suggest stopping right now. I’m not agreeing to your business plan and since my cupcakes and my couch and my putting up with you are the only reasons you’re still here, you should probably just get out.”

“You know what?” Arthur’s face contorted with something ugly as he took a step toward Merlin. “I think I will. I’ll find somewhere else to stay.”

“Good,” Merlin bit back and pointedly ignored the sinking and bubbling feeling of dread in his stomach, and also the desire to plead Arthur to stay, that he was the most interesting person Merlin had ever met and why won’t you just stay?

But he didn’t say any of that because Merlin wasn’t good at emotions and/or controlling them. So he just watched Arthur stalk off in the opposite direction with a promise to come and get his things later.

And when Merlin went back to his empty place, he cursed so loudly that he could hear the neighboring tenant’s gasp from next door.

* * *

 

Merlin had quite a bit of trouble falling asleep that night, and when he did, it was with scattered dreams and half lucid moments, only barely skimming the surface of actual rest. He blamed Arthur entirely for it, of course. And maybe he blamed himself a bit, too.

Still, despite his lack of true sleep, he managed to jump about a foot in the air when his bedroom door creaked open.

“Who is it? I’ve got a knife!” Merlin yelled at the door, never mind that his knife was all the way over in the kitchen and whoever was at the door was separating him from the only weapon readily available to him.

“S’Arthur,” a croaking voice said, and when Merlin squinted in the dark, he could see it was indeed Arthur. His blond hair shone in the moonlight that streamed in from Merlin’s tiny window.

“Arthur, what the hell?” Merlin groaned, flipping over and turning on a lamp. Arthur was leaning against the doorframe, looking dirty and rumpled, still in his uniform, and even in Merlin’s sleep-deprived state, he could tell the other man was absolutely plastered.

“I think I spent all my paycheck on shots,” Arthur sounded like a five year old boy who had gotten caught stealing an extra cookie. There was even a pout. A pout, for Christ’s sake! This was just not fair at all. The world and Merlin obviously were having some issues about what it was allowed to do to emotionally compromise him.

“You think?” Merlin sighed, and although he thought momentarily about getting out of bed, he decided against it and just sat up to lean against the headboard. “Alright, just…just go sleep it off, okay? I’ll get you some Advil in the morning.”

“But the couch is _lumpy_!” Arthur whined, and Merlin made a mental note that he should like to hear the whining noise again, perhaps in a different context, with alcohol or without. “Your bed looks soft.”

“No, no!” Merlin’s protests were feeble, because the next second had Arthur flopping over him and onto the comforter, spreading himself across Merlin’s legs. “God, I hate you.”

“No, you don’t,” Arthur mumbled into a pillow as he shoved himself further up onto the bed and next to Merlin. “I hope you don’t. ‘Cause I like you. You’re funny and pretty but you’re really really rude.”

“Thanks,” Merlin said automatically, like he did every time someone called him rude. Still, funny and pretty were quite obviously compliments, although Merlin kind of wanted to argue about the pretty one. “You’re…you’re okay, I guess.”

Which was about as close to a compliment as anyone had gotten from Merlin in years, but he didn’t say that part out loud.

“I feel bad for you,” Arthur continued as he curled his knees up to his chest and looked at Merlin through heavily lidded eyes. Merlin took that moment to force himself to promise that he was not going to take advantage of Arthur in this intoxicated sate. Nope, nope, nope. Not going to happen. “You’re scared, I think. ‘Cause of the business thing. You’re scared that you’ll fail. But you won’t fail ‘cause you’ve got me.”

“You think very highly of yourself,” Merlin snorted, not letting on just how close to home Arthur had hit with his statement. He shifted so that he was facing Arthur, still curled into his little ball at the top of the bed.

“Course I do,” Arthur said. “But you could do it on your own, too. You’re just too scared. Nobody ever believed in you. But I believe in you. You’re…you’re…”

“Funny and pretty and rude?” Merlin filled in, lips quirking into a small smile at the unexpected warmth blossoming in his chest.

“Yeah. That.” Arthur grinned at him before sinking fully into Merlin’s mattress, and loud snores started echoing across the tiny room a moment later.

“I hate you,” Merlin informed Arthur’s sleeping form as he himself laid back down, head lolling onto his pillow. Then he said it again for good measure before turning the light out and yet again failing to fall asleep.

* * *

 

When Arthur appeared in Merlin’s bedroom doorway just after nine, Merlin was in the kitchen making an attempt at scrambled eggs. “Morning!” He called cheerfully over to the moaning and groaning Arthur. “Have fun last night?”

“Why is it so bright?” Arthur complained, throwing himself down onto one of the chairs looking into the narrow kitchen area, letting his head rest on the table in front of him. “And why am I here? Did you kick me out?”

“Apparently you decided to show up, anyway,” Merlin informed him lightly. “But that’s okay, Drunk Arthur and I worked everything out. Well, I worked everything out after you invaded my bed. You can stay, long as you like, and I’ll try not to strangle you, but no promises. I’ll even…I’ll do your stupid cupcake thing, alright?”

Arthur’s head jerked up so fast that Merlin could have sworn he heard it crack. “What? Really? I was getting to the point where I thought you’d never agree with anyone. About anything _. Ever_.”

“I usually don’t,” Merlin shrugged as he grabbed two plates from one of the cupboards and shoveled a heap of eggs onto each of them. Handing Arthur his plate, he said “I guess you’re just that damn persuasive. Good quality in a businessman, I might add, so I suppose you can’t be completely worthless at it.”

“I think there was a compliment in there somewhere,” Arthur said as he shoveled eggs into his mouth. “God, do you have any Advil or something?”

“I think I’ve got some,” Merlin hid a smile. “I’ll be right back.”

* * *

 

“Order’s up!”

Merlin grinned as he surveyed Arthur taking orders on his own, very nice, very proper, and he didn’t insult a single one of them, just took down each of their requests with a smile. Arthur would soon become the favored waiter, Merlin was certain, but he didn’t really care. There was never much of a contest to begin with. He was just happy because Arthur was finally able to somewhat hold his own weight in the fine art of weighting tables.

It was like watching a caterpillar turn into a butterfly. Or something weird like that. Merlin had never been any good at analogies. Or metaphors. Or whatever.

The point of the matter was that he was proud of Arthur, proud of how far he’d come in just a month, to the point where he could wait tables like an old pro, no longer freaked out when Merlin used coupons while grocery shopping, and mastered the ability to jump Subway turnstiles.

And Merlin had come quite a way, too, even if he tried to pretend he hadn’t. He hoped Arthur was proud of his accomplishments, even if he didn’t know just how great they were. Merlin had never placed faith in anyone else; Arthur had been right, he’d never had anyone believe in him, so he really didn’t believe in anything. But when Arthur had yet another “brilliant” business strategy, a smile lighting up on his face as he spewed off some strange business or maybe rich people jargon, Merlin couldn’t help but think that he finally found someone deserving of his faith.

Even if Arthur still was a massive prat accustomed to far too much money that Merlin didn’t have and looked like a Ken Doll.

Merlin was willing to put up with those parts.

He was also willing to put up with the media shit storm over Arthur’s father. He knew it bothered Arthur, when others insulted or wrote off his jailed father, but he didn’t realize to what extent until the night after they got their first cupcake job catering for an event at an art exhibit.

“We got the job!” Arthur had yelled the second he clicked off the phone. Merlin poked his head out of the bedroom to see exactly what was happening and was met with a face full of Arthur nearly jumping on top of him in a horrid attempt at a high-five.

They still managed it, though, both of them with mega-watt smiles. “Seriously?” Merlin had grinned back, almost jumping in excitement. If anyone had told him that his life would have been in this state of affairs a few months ago, he would have laughed it off as some bad joke, but this…this was his life now. Arthur had somehow managed to take it over with his blond hair and pushy attitude, and Merlin wasn’t ashamed to admit that he enjoyed every minute of it.

“Seriously!” Arthur had never looked happier in all the times Merlin had seen him. “Three hundred dollars, Merlin!”

Three hundred dollars obviously would have been spare change to Arthur not so long ago, but here he was, overjoyed about the possibility of making that much cash. They had both changed.

“I know!” Merlin shouted back, and their neighbors probably hated them, but he didn’t care. This was the best news he had in ages and he was going to celebrate.

It was then that Arthur’s phone rang again, and he frowned down at it as he pulled it out of his pocket. “It’s…it’s my father.”

Merlin knew that Arthur had barely heard a word from his father since the man had been carted off to prison and Arthur kicked out of their Manhattan townhouse, and that Arthur was always desperate for news of him, so he tried to fade quietly into the background, giving his friend what he hoped was an encouraging nod as he did so.

“Hi, Dad,” Arthur said quietly as he put the phone up to his ear. “No, no, I’m not busy…”

Merlin decided that it would probably be best if he disappeared, so he slipped back inside his bedroom. After a good ten minutes of pretending to straighten up his tiny little bookshelf to the right of his bed, he gave up on pretenses and headed back out into the main room, hoping that Arthur wouldn’t mind too much.

Merlin nearly stopped short in the doorway, though, because Arthur wasn’t on the phone any longer, or yelling at Merlin to come back out so they could continue on in their rampant celebrations. He was sitting on the couch, curled up on himself, with his eyes red-rimmed as if there had been tears there only moments before.

“Arthur?” Merlin hurried out, and Arthur immediately sat up straighter, wiping his eyes but not meeting them with Merlin’s. “Arthur, what happened? Are you alright?”

“Fine,” Arthur said shortly. “Just…you know, didn’t have a bedroom or anything to go hide in. I should really at least get a Murphy bed or something out here, this couch is ridiculous.”

Merlin knew perfectly well how Arthur changed the subject from uncomfortable topics, and was going to keep him on track. “Is it your father? Did something happen with his case?”

“No,” Arthur said, and when it was apparent he wasn’t going to continue on speaking, Merlin jabbed him in the ribs. With a glare, Arthur kept talking. “I just…I haven’t seen him in a long time, not since I discovered – discovered just how much money he was stealing, and it was kind of hard. But it’s alright, I’m over it.”

“No, you’re not,” Merlin rolled his eyes but also gripped Arthur’s arm tightly, hoping he was conveying at least some of his sympathy for him. “You’re allowed to be upset with him.”

“I know that!” Arthur said crossly as he jerked his arm back into his own lap and away from Merlin’s side. “I just…the media and all that…he’s not a bad guy. He did some bad things, but he’s not a bad guy. He’s still family, you know?”

“No,” Merlin admitted quietly with a shake of his head. “I don’t. I’ve never had a family.”

Arthur regarded him with a strange look in his eyes as he tilted his head. “You have me.”

Now Merlin was about to cry, dammit, he hated crying in front of people, especially Arthur-people. Wiping his watering eyes, he cursed before saying “Yeah, I have you.”

Before he could stop himself, and because Arthur was looking just so lovely, and that was what he looked like after an emotional upheaval and that just wasn’t fair at all, Merlin leaned over, curling an arm around Arthur’s neck as he pressed his lips hesitantly onto his. They were warm and soft and pliant beneath him, and they were responding, too, ever so slightly.

Merlin, after much mental deliberation, broke away after a moment. Arthur, watching him with unreadable eyes, asked “What was that for?”

“I’ve kind of wanted to do it since I met you,” Merlin hated the words the second they left his mouth, especially since Arthur’s mouth fell open in a perfect ‘o’. “Don’t get too cocky though, I still thought you were an ass.”

And suddenly Arthur’s lips were on his again, more frantic this time, deeper and much, much less chaste than the first. It was intoxicating, like every drug Merlin had ever taken multiplied by a couple hundred, and he pulled Arthur upward, their mouths never leaving each other’s.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Arthur breathed into him as his fingers played with the edges of Merlin’s frayed t-shirt.

“Bedroom,” Merlin murmured back as he yanked Arthur by the lapels of his shirt toward the door. “Thought you’d appreciate not doing it on the, quote on quote, lumpy coach.”

Arthur’s laugh turned into a moan as their two bodies made it through the doorway.

* * *

 

A couple of hours and a couple of rounds later, Merlin half collapsed on top of Arthur, pressing lazy kisses onto his neck, eliciting some delicious sounds. He smiled as he pushed himself upward to press another chaste kiss onto Arthur’s lips, because in that moment, despite their empty pockets, their probably-going-to-fail-dismally business plan, and every other issue in their godforsaken lives, Merlin was certain that together, the two of them were absolutely invincible. 


End file.
